


do you even remember what the world looks like?

by iron_spider



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Lives, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider/pseuds/iron_spider
Summary: Tony’s heart has been working on overdrive since this whole thing started. Friday has a countdown clock plastered on the heads up display, but it feels like hieroglyphics to him at this point, like some ancient language he could never master.Because when Peter Parker is missing, things start losing their meaning real quick.“Should be around here,” Rhodey says on the com. May is still on the other line, listening in, because once a certain amount of time goes by without word from Peter, things move intoExtremely Worried Auntterritory. They’re already inTony Is Panickingterritory, and when both of those territories overlap it’s never a good time for anybody.Time? What the hell is time? His mind is blanking numbers out entirely. Minutes are seconds are hours are years.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 39
Kudos: 469





	do you even remember what the world looks like?

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of losing a bet. Dedicated to Jules, Morgan and Ariel <3

Tony’s heart has been working on overdrive since this whole thing started. Friday has a countdown clock plastered on the heads up display, but it feels like hieroglyphics to him at this point, like some ancient language he could never master.

Because when Peter Parker is missing, things start losing their meaning real quick. 

“Should be around here,” Rhodey says on the com. May is still on the other line, listening in, because once a certain amount of time goes by without word from Peter, things move into _Extremely Worried Aunt_ territory. They’re already in _Tony Is Panicking_ territory, and when both of those territories overlap it’s never a good time for anybody. 

Time? What the hell is time? His mind is blanking numbers out entirely. Minutes are seconds are hours are years.

Peter was on a late afternoon patrol, which turned into a late night patrol, but everybody is used to that by now, so they didn’t think anything of it. May fell asleep waiting up for him, but when she woke up this morning, he still wasn’t back. One frantic phone call later and Tony was on the case, but the kid’s phone was off and the suit tracking wasn’t functioning.

Which was the beginning of _Tony Is Panicking._

It took an agonizing amount of time, but they were finally able to trace Peter’s steps through CCTV up to a certain spot, and once they got within his last known vicinity, Tony’s roundabout protocol kicked in, and they were able to ping his phone even though it was off. 

And that’s where they are now. 

Staten Island, of all fucking places. Iron Man and War Machine flying around like off-roading comets trying to get the signal to strengthen, and the sun sets in the distance, drawing attention to just how long it’s been since any of them have heard from Peter. 

How long? _How long?_ Tony can’t see, can’t process. Too long.

“Anything yet?” May says, worry seeping through the line.

He doesn’t want to be the one that says it. _No, nothing. He’s still missing._ He cracks his jaw and hopes Rhodey can feel his fucking telepathic vibes, and he dives lower.

“Not yet,” Rhodey says. “Close though, I think.”

They’re dipping between a few closed-up office buildings, and when Tony flies between them, the signal gets a little stronger. 

Tony’s heart dips.

“Rhodey, I’m gonna go inside,” he says, swallowing hard, trying not to get too ahead of himself. “Back me up just in case there’s some shit we’re missing.” _Other than the kid._

“On you,” Rhodey says. 

Tony flies into one of the open windows, bordered by shards of broken glass, and he’s really gotta look into what the hell is going on in this goddamn area and why it’s so overrun. It barely looks like this place cleared out when they let it go, because there are still desks set up and old computers plugged into the walls, like strange ancient relics from a long forgotten time. He flies over to the stairwell and cuts through the open door, heading down as the signal gets stronger. 

He must be getting closer. He must be. Peter’s here somewhere, he’s somewhere in here.

Tony’s heart beats faster. The time clock Friday put up is still a blind spot in his eye, and he wonders if that’s something wrong with him, wrong in his head from all the fucking panicking. Peter himself is almost like a blind spot for Tony, as if shit happens to him no matter how hard Tony tries to protect him or avoid it. Like there are things he can’t see looming around Peter, things ready to snatch him when Tony’s back is turned. 

Every time his brain tries to process the amount of time that’s passed, it’s like a blue screen, like a commercial break, and he’s half-afraid it’s been far longer than a day. Far, far longer. 

_a month a year a decade failure failure failure_

But he knows it can’t be. Because May would be scorching the earth, and him with it.

Tony flies down and down and the signal only gets stronger. 

“He’s gotta be down in this goddamn building,” Tony says, watching as Friday shows him the layout. She’s searching for the source, for Peter, and as Tony gets lower, he sees the damage to the building getting worse. Not just neglect, but active destruction. The walls are torn up, some of them scorched, like there was a fight here. It sends chills down his spine, and he tries to tell himself to relax. 

Peter is capable of plenty. Peter’s stronger than him, stronger than most of them combined. The kid’s been very involved with trying to rebuild the world since he got back, putting his all into it, into everything that needed to be done. Tony always knew he was strong, but he’s really seen the extent of it since he’s been back. He never thought he’d see Peter Parker toss Thor across one of the training rooms, but now it’s a memory he’ll have with him forever. 

But no matter what, Peter’s battles will worry Tony. Whether he’s watching from a hospital bed on the sidelines or fighting right next to him, the kid is just too goddamn important. And seeing him in distress, seeing him _hurt_ delves Tony’s world into darkness. 

He worked his way into Tony’s heart way back when they first met, whether Tony was acknowledging it then or not. But he’s acknowledging it now, and he hates this shit. Hates the silence and the wonder and how his head becomes so foggy with fear when Peter is in danger. Sure, Peter’s strong. Sure, he’s a big goddamn hero. But he was gone, he was _gone_ and now he’s back and he’s gotta stay that way. Intact and safe and protected.

So where the fuck is he?

“Okay, something happened here,” Tony says, his own voice stretching with emotion. “Some kind of fucking...fight, he was fighting someone.” He flies down to the bottom, into what looks like some kind of underground parking garage. There are a few abandoned cars here, some of them overturned from whoever Peter was fighting, Tony assumes.

Then he sees it. A giant fucking hole in the ground. He lands, his heart in his throat, and starts striding towards it when he sees _something else—_ what looks like a stream of blood heading towards the back stairwell, the one on the opposite side of the building from where he came down.

It can’t be Peter. The goddamn signal is still here, it’s still—it’s still down here, it’s stronger now that he’s down here, pulsing loud like someone calling for help—

_what if he just lost his phone what if he’s out there somewhere delirious and hurt and who the fuck hurt him who would hurt him after he was dead and gone who would do that to may who would do that to tony who in their right mind could hurt the kid after knowing him for the briefest of moments_

_—but he’s not dealing with people in their right minds, he’s dealing with lunatics, criminals—none of them want to get to know him, they just want to run through him, he’s in their way—_

Tony refocuses his attention and marches over to the hole in the ground—it almost looks like a crater, like an asteroid landed here even though the building above it is intact, and the signal gets even stronger. 

“Friday, is Peter in there?” Tony asks, his voice wavering. He feels dizzy as hell and he doesn’t know why. Well, he does. It’s all this. _Missing gone hurt._ He just needs to find him.

Before she even answers, Tony hears it.

A noise. 

Almost like a scream, but stilted, muffled. Weak. 

Tony rushes to the edge and turns on one of his floodlights. The hole goes down deep, somehow, and Tony has no idea what the hell could have made this. Even with the light, he still can’t see to the bottom.

But he hears the noise again. A little louder this time, from deep within someone’s throat. A groan. Like their voice has been stolen. 

“Peter?” Tony yells, shaking with fear. “Peter, are you—”

The noise. Even louder. And it sounds agonized and Tony can’t hear it again, he can’t take it, and Friday hasn’t even finished mapping the crater before Tony is taking off and flying directly into it. It’s crumbling on either side of him, slowly, not an avalanche yet, not a bury-them-alive moment but something to think about, if he was thinking about anything but finding Peter—

“Tony, what’s going on?” May asks, in his ear.

“Tony, I’m coming in,” Rhodey says, right after her. “Do you need backup? What’s going on?”

Tony is still diving, inside his panicked trance, and then he sees the bottom and then he sees and then he sees—

There’s a ton of fucking debris down here, and he can see Peter right underneath a few of the smaller pieces of it, but just barely in the cast of the floodlight. He still has his mask on and the pieces of concrete and rock don’t look like anything that would trap him for very long. Tony knows what the hell the kid went through with the Vulture all those years back, and he’s seen him in action—Peter could lift a goddamn monster truck if he needed to. With his pinky finger.

But he’s just laying there.

Peter makes the noise again and the sound of it makes Tony feel sick, and he swoops down and tries not to land too hard next to him, for fear of the walls of the crater collapsing in any more than they already have. Peter groans a few times in quick succession but he still doesn’t say anything, and what the hell is wrong with him why does he keep doing that why has he been gone for so long brain fog brain fog how long has it really been _how long what happened how long—_

Tony readjusts the light so it isn’t so blinding, thinking about the kid’s heightened senses. He takes hold of some of the debris and moves it behind him—gently, thinking of crashes and everything falling in on an injured Peter. He busts up the rest until Peter is completely free, but still, the kid just lays there, and Tony retracts the helmet and kneels next to him, peeling his mask off and revealing his face.

“Peter,” Tony says, in a rush of breath, hearing commotion from both May and Rhodey in his earpiece at the sound of the kid’s name. But he can’t make out what they’re saying through his focus, his panic, his fear. _What’s happening what’s happening—_

Peter still isn’t moving. His eyes sure are, though, and they’re looking around frantically and widening at Tony, and he keeps whimpering and groaning in frustration. He’s got a little cut on his forehead but other than that his face looks fine, but Tony is too panicked by whatever the hell is going on here to check the rest of him. 

“What’s happening?” Tony asks, hand on his shoulder, trying to sound gentle despite the way his heart is leaping into his throat. “Can you move?”

Peter makes a little _nuh-uh_ sound without opening his mouth.

“Okay, calm down, calm down,” Tony says, squeezing his shoulder, his own mind racing trying to put together the pieces. “Blink once if you were shot with something. You can blink, right?”

Peter blinks, pressing his eyes shut tight before he opens them again. One blink, okay, shot with something. A swirl of fear twines around Tony’s neck, and he’s dizzy in its grip for a moment before he rights himself again. He can fix this. He will fix this. He’s dealt with shit like this before. 

How long has it been? How long has Peter been like this? Tony doesn’t have his helmet on anymore so he can’t see the damn time clock so he doesn’t even know if his brain would register it yet and he doesn’t want it to, he doesn’t wanna know how long the kid has been down here like this _alone—_

“Okay, whoever it was, do you know if they’re still around?” Tony asks. “Blink once if they’re gone. Twice if they’re around.” 

The noises Peter is making are frantic and make him sound like he’s in pain and they’re scaring Tony to death. Peter blinks once, a long one again, breathing hard through his nose. 

“Okay, that’s one thing,” Tony says. Peter still looks horribly panicked, even though his face is completely slack, and it’s because his eyes are so wide, darting every which way. Tony leans down and brushes Peter’s hair back from his forehead, his brain working on overdrive now alongside his heart, thinking of next steps. “Hey, I’ve got you now, okay? Gonna be fine. We’re gonna fix this and get you moving again lickety-split, bud, okay? Totally fine, gonna get you to the closest Stark facility and get you back to normal. Blink once if you believe me. Blink twice if you think I’m a moron. I’ll take it, I mean, I’d understand.”

Peter’s face doesn’t change, of course, but if someone could channel all of their annoyance into their eyes, that’s exactly what he’s doing right now. Tony isn’t sure if he’s gonna blink at all, but then he does, but this one is quicker. 

“Good,” Tony says, voice trembling. “Okay, okay. Whatever you got shot with, do you know if it was like, a dart—is it still sticking in you somewhere?”

Peter manages another _nuh-uh_ but Tony looks anyway, and sees a couple bloody tears in his suit—one on his stomach and one on each leg. But there’s nothing to indicate exactly what happened, what made Peter this way, and the dizziness tries to rear up again. 

“I’m gonna pick you up, okay?” Tony says. “Gonna fly you out of here. Snappy, snappy, real—snappy like, okay?”

Peter blinks again and then makes the _ah-huh_ noise, and finally he’s sounding more exasperated than scared, which allows Tony to swallow some of his own fear and figure shit out, dammit. 

He’s gotta be useful.

“You’re breathing okay, right?” Tony asks, staring at him. “Not a problem? Uh. Blink once. If—if you’re not having trouble breathing. Blink twice if you are and I’ll learn the art of teleportation.”

Peter blinks once and huffs through his nose, breathing hard, almost like he’s demonstrating. 

“Okay,” Tony sighs. “This is why I shouldn’t have given up on that brainwave telepathic communication shit.” He puts his helmet back on. His brain still can’t process the goddamn timeline Friday has up, and he’s only just now tuning back in to what May and Rhodey are saying. 

“Why isn’t he answering—”

“He does this, he gets focused—”

“Rhodey, get her over to the facility in Brooklyn, that’s where we’re going,” Tony says. “I’m hanging up now because I’ve gotta focus—he’s okay, he’s—looks like it’s some kind of paralyzing agent but we’re gonna fix it, we’re gonna get him better and then probably make a lot of pancakes for him or something, kid’s gotta eat. Make sure Helen and her crew are there, too. Bruce on standby, just to be sure.”

“Oh Jesus,” May says.

“Gonna get Happy to grab her up,” Rhodey says. “Heading there now.”

“Friday, end call,” Tony says. He looks down at Peter again, and the kid still isn’t moving, just blinking and taking in measured breaths through his nose. If he can still blink, still breathe, it bodes well for fixing the problem. Tony repeats that in his head to convince himself of it. 

A tear trails down from Peter’s left eye, and Tony’s heart lurches. He knows Peter doesn’t like crying in front of him, and he knows he’d be quickly scrubbing the tears away if he could move, but he can’t so he just lays there, stewing in his own embarrassment, which burns red on his cheeks.

Tony retracts the helmet again and hovers over him, shaking his head and trying to look reassuring. “You’re okay,” he says, gripping Peter’s shoulder, briefly touching his cheek. “Okay? You’re okay, we’re getting out of here. I’ve got you now, okay?”

Peter closes his eyes for a long moment and opens them again, meeting Tony’s gaze. He looks so goddamn young sometimes, so young to be going through all of this—facing the world ending, facing death and people who just want to cause hurt and suffering. He deserves to be a kid, he deserves happiness and parties and watching his favorite movies and inventing shit and just—peace. A normal life, not this, not all this shit on his shoulders and pain constantly trailing after him, constantly trying to twist around him like vines, dragging him down somewhere dark and deep. He deserves reassurances that this stuff won’t happen. 

But there’s none of that. Because it always will.

“We’re going right now,” Tony says, getting into gear, putting his helmet back on again. He puts Peter’s mask on, just in case some weirdo is out there keeping tabs, and he tries not to get too thrown off by Peter’s panicked eyes, and more tears gathering. It’s weird, Peter not talking. Opposite of what he’s used to, since the kid is such a rambler. 

Gotta get this shit fixed. He bets Peter is fucking terrified _and how long has it been—_

He works one arm under Peter’s knees, the other around his waist, and lifts him up as easily as he can. Tony wasn’t sure if he’d be stiff as a board or more slack, but it’s looking like the latter, as Peter flops like a ragdoll in his arms.

“Gotcha, gotcha,” Tony says, holding him tighter and cradling him close, making sure he won’t slip away on their flight to the facility.

Peter makes a distressed sound, and Tony readjusts him so his head is resting more comfortably (he hopes) on Tony’s shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” Tony says. “Trust me, you blinked that you trusted me.” 

And he’s gotta live up to that, more than anything. He’s in the public’s favor now, because of the whole saving the world thing, recovering from nearly dying thing, but the only people he really cares about trusting him are his family. Happy, Rhodey, the team, his wife, his kids—and Peter is one of those kids. 

Peter. Previously missing, paralyzed Peter.

“You okay?” Tony asks, trying to crane his neck to look at him now. “Well. Relatively. Ready to fly?”

_Ah-huh_ again, and a huff through Peter’s nose that Tony can barely hear through the mask.

“Okay, I’ve got you, I promise,” Tony says. He lifts up gently, slowly, and he tries to keep his own panic in check, keep it in check, keep it steady, knock it down for the kid. His mind is running wild with what happened, how long it’s been, how to fix it, _how long it’s been_ , and Peter’s silence is always so loud. Whether it’s something like this, when his voice has been stolen from him somehow, or when he’s sad and moping, his head in his hands, his eyes downcast, all his words lost in his head.

Or when he’s not there at all, anymore. When he’s an empty space at Tony’s side. When he’s a bed that hasn’t been slept in, a face in a photograph. A memory. A void in the world where he should be, talking about Star Wars and the mugging he stopped and the new webshooter combo he’s working on and _can you hand me that Florence flask, Mr. Stark_ and _listen I love the Spice Girls as much as the next guy but—_

It was so quiet it was so goddamn quiet without him and it’s so goddamn quiet now even though he’s right here and—

_Nope. Nope. None of that shit, not right now, not right now, brain, so pipe the fuck down._

Peter is still so, so limp and Tony doesn’t think about it, only thinks about getting him to the facility and into a comfortable bed and fed through a goddamn tube or whatever they’ve gotta do until he can move again, until Tony fixes that problem. Tony holds onto him and rises out of the crater, desperate to do something to ease Peter’s mind. Because even though the kid isn’t talking, Tony knows him well enough to know that this isn’t exactly his favorite thing. The crying contributes to that too, but Tony hopes those are relieved tears, relieved to be finally getting the hell out of here.

He tries to be light. Tries to be stupid. “How long have you been in there?” he says, his voice taking a dumb high pitch. “Do you even remember what the world looks like?”

Peter huffs again, but this one sounds more like a laugh. Tony weaves them through the stairwell the way he came in, and holds Peter close as he gets to the main floor and out the window again. 

“Remember chicken noodle soup, Pete?” Tony asks, clutching at him as he picks up the pace. Friday puts up more numbers, seemingly how long it’s gonna take to get from here to the facility, but Tony’s number-blindness is still intact, and he knows he has to get past that quick so he can start working on the problem. “Remember, uh, Jar Jar Binks? I know he’s your favorite. I know you’ve got posters of him on your walls. Hero worship, I get it.”

Peter groans so loud that it almost sounds like he’s trying to yell, like he’s breaking through his imposed wordlessness by sheer force of will, and Tony snorts, shaking his head.

“Okay, I’ll stop. I’ll stop. I know you’re an Ewok man.”

Peter huffs again, and Tony knows that if he could see his eyes, he’d be glaring at him.

~

Everyone hops on the problem as soon as Tony and Peter arrive, and May nearly passes out on the spot seeing Peter like that. Seeing her reaction makes Tony feel dizzy and ill—he stares at Peter and Peter stares back, all wild-eyed still, frozen, watching as everyone gathers around him, starting to check him out. But May begs Tony to fix it, fix him, fix her boy, so he clues back in, presses a quick kiss to Peter’s forehead, and springs into action, too.

“I’ll fix it,” he says, making a promise to Peter as he looks him in the eyes. He glances at May, affirming to her too. “I’ll fix it.”

He leaves the room, and starts with trying to find out who it was the kid was dealing with. They trace the cameras the opposite way leading up to Peter’s location, and finally, they see that Scorpion and fucking Shocker were trying to start some shit before Peter got a hold of them and gave them hell. And as much as Tony hates them both, and how much they’ve plagued Peter in the past, it’s actually good that it’s something familiar. They’ve dealt with Scorpion’s concoctions before. So they can handle this.

“I should have thought about it,” Tony says, already working on the antidote with Helen and her team in the lab across from Peter’s room. He glances up at Rhodey. “I should have known it was Scorpion, I’m a goddamn moron, and I guess Shocker made the crater and I should have realized that too, but I didn’t, because I’m a moron.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Tones, Jesus,” Rhodey says, shaking his head at him. “You’re lucky you’re even out of bed.”

“I’ve been out of bed for six months.”

“After being _in bed_ for nine,” Rhodey counters.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Numbers. Just numbers.”

“Sure. Numbers that mean something. Numbers that mark recovery and how you’re progressing—”

“Jesus, okay, Nurse Ratched—”

“Yeah, just _give me_ the opportunity to give you a lobotomy,” Rhodey says. He knocks him on the shoulder and Tony sighs, transferring the tests from Peter’s last Scorpion encounter over to Helen’s laptop. “You’re doing good. Okay? Christ, you found him and I didn’t. And he’s gonna be fine because you’re the one that developed these serums against Scorpion’s shit, not me, not Helen—”

“Helen was essential, as usual,” Tony says, looking at him.

“Yeah, but you did it,” Rhodey says. “And you did it for Peter. Okay? Shit, man, perfection takes a lot to...perfect, you gotta give yourself a break.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you think I’m perfect? I always knew, but I thought I’d never hear it out loud. Only in my dreams.” Rhodey stares at him and Tony scoffs, his wild heartbeat slowing down a little bit. “Fine, fine,” he says. “Fine. But lemme just focus here, he hasn’t been paralyzed before and I think it’s killing me and May a little.”

“ _Think_ ,” Rhodey says. “I know so. You two start to die a little when he breaks a nail.”

“Alright, alright,” Tony says. “Stop throwing my sentimentality in my face, I try not to acknowledge it.”

Rhodey reaches out and squeezes Tony’s shoulder, his own sentimentality taking hold of him. “I’m gonna go try to track those two morons after the fight and see where they slunk off to,” he says. “That blood you said you found, they might be messed up enough for us to go and pick ‘em up.”

“Yeah, if you find ‘em, knock ‘em around a bit for the kid and me, huh? Might make me feel better. He’d probably only want diplomacy, but if I see Shocker with a black eye and Scorpion with a broken arm, it might mend my aching heart a bit.”

“Well, that’s what Pepper and I are here for, right?” Rhodey asks, winking. “To take care of that heart of yours? I knew it’d be too much for one person, I had to stay on call for all the weeping and drama.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get her to suit up, too?” Tony asks. “Make sure Morgan has her favorite babysitter.”

Rhodey laughs. “I’ll keep you updated.”

~

Tony hovers around outside Peter’s room while Helen is finalizing everything, almost afraid to see him like that again, afraid to fail again, afraid to take too long _again_. Finally, May comes out, as if she sensed his presence there. He stops his pacing when he sees her, and she raises her eyebrows at him.

“What are you doing?” she says, shaking her head. “Come inside. He’s asleep now.”

“Did you get him to eat?” Tony asks, following her into the room and closing the door behind them. Most of the lights are out in here now, just the TV flashing and a small lamp glowing on the bedside table.

“No,” she says, giving Tony a look. “He didn’t want the feeding tube, you know he doesn’t like when things are in his throat, and he was getting all panicked and I just—” She shakes her head and looks a little teary. “It’s been over twenty-four hours since I last saw him. What did the time stamps on the video say, when all this started?” 

“Time stamps…” Tony trails off. He didn’t even look at the time, he was too focused on seeing who the hell it was. 

May keeps on. “I don’t know if he ate anything before any of this shit happened, but it’s—either way, it’s too long, and he’s so stubborn.”

Over twenty-four hours since she last saw him. Has anyone else said it out loud since this started? Has it been bleeped out in his brain, like a goddamn curse word? The number flashes in Tony’s mind’s eye like a blaring Broadway billboard, and he feels like a tree that’s been cut down, about to topple over. 

“Should we try again?” he asks, voice suddenly raspy. “To get him to eat? Should we—”

“How much longer till you guys get him back to normal?” she asks. It isn’t harsh or demanding, just simply put.

“Within the hour,” Tony says, staring over at Peter. He’s guessing. He hopes. What’s an hour if Peter is hurt? A minute is too long. “Probably quicker than that, Helen’s good and she knows it’s important.”

“I think it’ll be alright if we make him eat as soon as he can swallow properly,” she says, with a sigh. “I mean, we were able to get some water down his throat, and he’s not drooling everywhere, so this is—I don’t know what the hell this is. Super villain shit, you never know what half-assed injury you’re gonna get.”

“I guess we should be happy it’s half-assed,” Tony says, cracking his jaw and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“He should be happy he’s got you in his corner,” May says, softly. “I know we’ve had our differences, but we’re family now—”

“And we get closer every time this one winds up in a med bay bed,” Tony says, glancing over at him again. He looks serene, sleeping, but Tony worries about nightmares. Things aren’t fixed yet and Peter knows it.

“Yeah, let’s replace that with more get-togethers and dinners and parties,” May says, rubbing his arm before she walks back over to her chair beside Peter’s bed. Tony follows, taking the seat on the other side. “Both of us are garbage in the kitchen, but Happy always manages to cook something good up.”

“He makes a mean lasagna,” Tony says, scooting closer to Peter. 

“Oh, I’ll never forget,” May says, smiling over at him.

Both of them take Peter’s hands at the same time, and Tony doesn’t think about the numbers or the failures or the quiet or the blaming himself. He just thinks about this little two-person family he decided to absorb into his own. He thinks about how damn happy he is that he did that. Despite the heart attacks that Peter gives him on a daily basis.

~

Helen comes in a little bit after that, and they administer the serum, which doesn’t even wake Peter out of his sleep. May and Tony watch him afterwards, like hawks on the hunt for some movement, both of them holding their breath. Helen stands by the door and waits, too. To make sure it worked. To make sure they don’t have to figure out something else. 

Then.

“His finger,” May whispers.

Peter’s finger twitches.

Tony leans down and clutches at Peter’s shoulder. He shakes him gently. “Pete,” he says. “Hey. Sleeping Beauty, wake up, nap time’s over. Wake up, buddy.”

Then Peter—his face twitches a little bit too, and then scrunches like he doesn’t want to wake up, like he finally felt safe enough to sleep, unlike at the bottom of that damn crater. His movements are a little stilted but he falls back into them with grace, turning his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowing. He smacks his lips together like his mouth tastes bad, and his arm flops around a bit like it’s asleep before he manages to clench all five fingers into a fist.

“Peter,” May says, rubbing his other shoulder. “Honey.”

Peter groans “Oh—oh my _God_ ,” he says, basically slurring, opening both eyes and looking absolutely disgusted. He tries to shift up the bed but both of his hands slip before they can gain any traction, and he’s still moving awkward and weird. May and Tony perch on either side of the bed and help him move, and he’s like a giant infant for a moment there, like a newborn giraffe discovering all of his limbs.

“Alright, calm down, kid—”

“That—sucked,” Peter says, scratching his forehead where the bandage is. He blinks again, one eye and then the other, and he looks back and forth between them. “That _sucked_ and I was trying to tell you, May, that I totally could eat soup because I could kinda swallow and you were all like _let’s stick this giant tube down his throat!_ And that’s why I was like _noooo_ but you were like _yessss_ and I really thought you were gonna kill me.”

May snorts, hanging her head. “I’m sorry babe,” she says, like she’s trying not to laugh.

“And you,” Peter says, glaring at Tony. “One of the first things you say to me when you know that I can’t answer is that I’m a Jar Jar fan? Literally slandering me right to my face, like, in my moment of need—”

Tony laughs too, he can’t help it. “I didn’t know it was that serious.”

“It is _serious—_ ”

“Glad to see we’re all doing good,” Helen says, grinning, and she quickly walks out before Peter can direct any vitriol her way, as if he’d ever have anything bad to say to her.

“Lemme go get you some soup,” Tony says, squeezing Peter’s arm.

“No, no, don’t go yet,” Peter says, fast, still behaving like it’s a little hard to make his mouth form words.

“You okay?” May asks. “You’re alright, right?”

“Yeah, I think,” Peter says, with a sigh, and he tries to shift again, leaning back more against the pillows. “It’s—that sucked. I felt like I was down there for a billion years.”

Tony winces. “Sorry, bud,” he says. “We were a little late on that one.” _Too fucking long hours and hours and hours what the hell what the hell—_

“Did you find them yet?” Peter asks, looking at him all wide-eyed. “I hit Shocker real hard and he was bleeding and that’s when Scorpion shot me and I was able to knock him a couple times, I know I disabled part of his suit before Shocker made the crater, and then I fell and then I couldn’t move and part of it fell on me, and I don’t think they saw where, I mean, I guess they didn’t or they would have come and tried to mess with me, I guess—I’ve got no clue where they went or like, how they got out—am I talking too much? I feel like I’m talking too much.”

“No, keep talking forever,” Tony says, before thinking it through. He can feel his face starting to burn—both May and Peter are grinning, and Tony rolls his eyes at himself, deciding not to acknowledge it. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, sending an all-call about dinner for Peter.

~

He tells them about the entire fight, about how he caught Shocker and Scorpion on Staten Island planning some kind of attack on the upcoming Stark conference, since they thought there would be a gathering of more than three heroes there. Peter is always a little bit concerned about his identity when he gets knocked out like that and he says as much, but he clams up when May’s worry starts to show itself on her face and in her movements. 

His dinner finally arrives, via about six different interns who don’t know he’s Spider-Man, and who, Tony suspects, all believe he’s some kind of secret lovechild between Tony and May, considering how often the three of them are seen together. Pepper doesn’t care, so Tony allows the story to run wild in their heads. Whatever.

Eventually, when they’re watching an episode of Fresh Prince, May drifts off to the calming tones of Peter’s commentary. Peter notices she’s sleeping and stops talking, exchanging a couple quiet words here and there with Tony about how much he loves Will Smith. 

Peter clears his throat when the commercials come on. “It, uh. Was scary, though,” he says, softly. 

Tony looks over at him. 

Peter keeps clenching his hands just to prove to himself that he can, and he’s moving around and cracking his jaw and raising his eyebrows. He’s still got the box of cookies one of the interns brought him in his lap, the Samoas that came with the massive amount of Girl Scout cookies Tony ordered on a whim. Peter puts one of them in his mouth, and his chewing seems very exaggerated. 

“Not being able to move, not knowing if they were gonna come back and do whatever they wanted with me. I was just—I was just lucky, that they didn’t. That whatever I did was bad enough that they had to run away. I didn’t wanna kill them, obviously—”

“I wanted to kill them,” Tony says. “But that’s like. A constant feeling, with all these dumb shits that go after you.”

“You can’t kill all the bad guys,” Peter says, a small smile on his face. 

“I mean, like, Pepper absolutely exploded this one guy that was coming after me,” Tony says, shrugging. That feels like a million years ago. 

“Well, I’m sure she had to, because he was coming at you, right? Trying to hurt you and there was no other way?”

“Yeah, and?” Tony says, raising his eyebrows. “These guys are coming at you all the time—they paralyzed you, somehow disabled your tracking, which we’re gonna have to work on and fix so it can’t happen again—I just, Pete—you shouldn’t blame me for my murderous thoughts.”

Peter sighs. 

“Twenty four hours,” Tony says, feeling sick with it. “Twenty—no, it was more than that, I think, but my brain still can’t process it because of panic or idiocy or guilt or a nice little combo of all three, but that’s too long, and that’s on me but that’s also _on them_ for being notorious assholes.”

Peter shrugs too. “Part of my job, I guess. A risk that I’m taking doing what I do.”

Tony hates it. He doesn’t say that out loud, but he absolutely hates it.

Peter keeps talking. “It was scary being like that, not able to move and stuff, but I—never doubted that you were coming. I knew the whole time you were gonna find me, so—I wasn’t worried about that.”

Tony’s eyes strain and he shakes his head, reaching over and taking the kid’s hand. “Took too damn long, but you’re right about that. Whenever you’re lost, I’m gonna be looking. I won’t stop.”

Even in those five years, he didn’t stop. He didn’t. He still tried, every day. Through the thick pain of it. Through the world moving on and his heart tearing itself to shreds to try and continue beating. The silence was just too loud. 

“I don’t want that to happen again, though,” Peter says, and Tony can see the goosebumps on his arms. “The, uh. Paralyzed—being paralyzed. Like, full body—whatever, it was bad, I didn’t like it.”

“I don’t blame you, Pete,” Tony says, blowing out a breath. “Rhodey and some of the others are out there looking for these dickheads, I know they’re a bit, uh—squirrely, so, in the meantime you and I can figure something out, new suit or something that can administer the serum if he gets you again with whatever he shot you with that did this.”

Peter nods. And then he nods again, and smiles when he sees Tony watching him. “Sorry, I just—really happy to be able to nod. And move. And talk.”

“You’re a good talker—may I say, one of the _most_ professional talkers I’ve ever met in my life. Got it down to a science, the cadence, the words, the run-on sentences—”

Peter snorts. “Stop.”

Tony can see the time, now, the digital clock in the corner of the screen on the TV channel, the clock on the wall by the door. Time, finally coming back to him and sinking into his brain now that he’s got the kid back. He guesses time just simply doesn’t work properly if his family is threatened. Lengthened, shortened, stretched and torn like play-doh.

“It’s getting late, kid, almost midnight and you need some real sleep, not some paralyzed panic sleep. You two are gonna stay here tonight so we can keep an eye on you, but tomorrow you’ll probably be safe to go home. I’m gonna work on the suit and get it back up to full capacity so you can take it with you.”

“I’ll help you tomorrow,” Peter says, fast. “Work on it. And the new one. And maybe we’ll, uh—stay for a couple more days, if you don’t care?”

Tony smiles and shakes his head again, squeezing Peter’s hand. “Course I don’t care,” he says. “I’ll have Mo and Pep come back here tonight. We’ll bribe Happy into doing lasagna. Just put on your best puppy eyes, even he’s affected by that.”

“Okay, easy,” Peter says, and he turns on the goddamn puppy dog eyes immediately, giving Tony a pleading look.

Tony lets go of his hand and pushes at his cheek softly, getting him to turn away. “Do _not_ use your powers against me, Parker.” He grabs the cookies from Peter’s lap and puts them on the bedside table, but not before grabbing one out of the box and stuffing it in his mouth. He gets up, turns the TV down low, and turns off the light. He squeezes Peter’s shoulder and ruffles his hair, smiling down at him. “Go to sleep, Webs. Now I gotta carry your aunt to the next bed over there.”

“Oh, no, _that_ I gotta see.”

“Go to _sleep_ before I drop her on top of you and she kills us both.”

Peter snorts, watching Tony walk around the front of the bed. His knees are still both jumping like he’s afraid he won’t be able to move again if he stops, but he smiles. “Hey, uh. Thank you. For saving me and for—all the time. Everything.”

Tony shakes his head, reaching out and squeezing Peter’s foot, which is still under the comforter. “You’re very welcome,” he says. “Now go to sleep, dammit. Dream of Jar Jar.”

Peter glares, huffs, and turns onto his side, gathering the pillow up against his cheek. Tony laughs, patting his foot again as he heads over to May, his heart bursting with too much fondness. 

Jesus, he loves that kid.


End file.
